


Post-Reichenbach Compilation

by SniperMoran



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Feels, Flashbacks, M/M, Post-Reichenbach, compilation of solos, emotional Sebby, original character mentioned, suicidal Sebby, trigger warnings?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-05
Updated: 2014-08-05
Packaged: 2018-02-11 23:15:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2086821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SniperMoran/pseuds/SniperMoran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a compilation of short stories (I guess?) from Sebastian Moran's perspective. They all take place Post-Reichenbach Falls. (Updated)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Post-Reichenbach Compilation

**Author's Note:**

> These are some other writings from my Sebastian Moran roleplay account on twitter.
> 
> I should probably feel bad for all the torment that I put Sebastian through, but he's my baby and I love him.
> 
> Note: I do not own any of these characters, but I do own the ideas, and I took liberty with Sebastian's character since he isn't very fleshed out in the books.

Sebastian sat on the roof, cigarette in his hand, rifle bag at his side, knife in his other hand. He tossed it experimentally, catching it in the same hand, sighing out a cloud of smoke. The sun was setting in the sky, over the city he called home. It was a beautiful city, sometimes. One of those times would be this time of day, when the sun was setting behind the buildings, and they cast a shadow across the ground. From up here, on his perch, it was like he owned the world. He was king of all he saw before him.

 

Slowly, he lay back, resting his head against the ground, staring up at the darkening sky. He closed his eyes, cigarette to his mouth, taking a slow drag and holding it in for a moment before breathing it out. "Fuck..." he murmured to himself.

 

As the sky became dark and scattered with dim stars, he knew it was time to get up. The nights got too cold to lay out here on the roof like this. He needed to get back to his empty flat, if you could even call it a flat. It was barely bigger than a box, it felt like. It was suffocating and he hated it there. He tossed his cigarette to the ground and stomped it out with his boot before riffling through his bag to get out the materials that he needed. He carefully and almost lovingly put together his rifle and set it up, taking a peek through the scope, and adjusting it to get the shot that he wanted. He grabbed another cigarette, putting it to his lips but not lighting it just yet.

 

He pulled his dog tags out from under his jacket and squeezed them in his hands. "Stay safe tiger..." he murmured, remembering the words by heart, always, and repeating them to himself whenever he felt alone and exposed. It had become like a mantra that gave him strength. He stepped up to his gun, peering through the scope, lining things up, finger on the trigger. All he had to do was wait now. His jobs had gotten easier since his boss had--

 

He swallowed heavily, closing his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. "Not now, Sebastian, get your shit together. You've got one job...then you can think." he reprimanded himself, getting quickly back to the task at hand.

 

He waited. Waiting was always the boring part. The annoying part. He started humming an old Bee Gees tune as he waited to see the face that he needed to see.

 

When he spotted the man, he took the shot, took a moment to watch him fall and the people swarm around him, most likely screaming and crying and wondering where the shot had come from. He chuckled to himself and started to pack up, swinging his rifle bag onto his back when he was finished. He lit his cigarette and climbed down from the roof, bag on his back, cigarette between his lips. Time to collect and then get some more whiskey. Maybe some more smokes.

 

He wandered through the still crowded city; head down, sticking to the shadows. He didn't want to stand out, and he hardly ever did. Because people are blind. They don't care about what other people do so long as nobody runs into anybody else.

 

He didn't even realize where he was going until his feet brought him to the old flat, where he lived with James Moriarty. "Jim...." he breathed, swallowing heavily. His tears burned in his eyes and he looked down, taking a seat on the steps, curling up there, waiting for the morning to come.

 

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Sebastian sat on the couch, staring at the sleeping pills on the table, and the few bottles of alcohol he had left. Then he glanced over at his rifle bag and his handgun. He closed his eyes and ran a hand over his face, trying to gather his thoughts as the tears welled up in his eyes. He had nothing left, and everyone was after him now, so what was the point in sticking around to be caught and tortured in a prison somewhere. He had been living on what Jim had left behind for him, which wasn't all that much in retrospect. What with all the expensive suits the man always wore... But that wasn't what mattered.

He took a deep breath and pulled out his e-cig. It was one of the last things Jim had gotten him, telling him that 'I don't want my Tiger dying like that'. He took a deep drag, the taste of coffee filling his senses, and then he blew out the vapor, sighing. It wasn't as good as the real thing by far, but it was alright... Better than nothing anyway. He opened his eyes slowly and looked out the glass doors in front of him, out at the dimly lit cityscape. It was beautiful tonight... And how appropriate. It had been exactly a year now.

Today, last year...Jim had shot himself. In those beautiful brains. That marvelous, brilliant, STUPID, SELFISH brain. Sebastian squeezed his eyes closed as a tear dripped down his cheek, and then the floodgates broke and he was sobbing all over again. God, it was pathetic... Jim would slap him silly if he saw him like this, but still, he couldn't stop. He picked up a bottle and poured himself a glass, not caring of the substance, just needing to be numbed. He glanced again at the sleeping pills. He was really thinking about it now. He took a gulp from his glass and then downed it, still thinking as he poured himself another.

"Jim...I don't know what to do without you..." he whimpered. "How did you expect me to live after that...after watching you...seeing you...How could you do this to me...?" he asked, staring up at the ceiling. He angrily threw the glass across the room, watching it smash against the opposite wall. He blinked and stood up from his spot on the sofa and sighed, starting to pace. "FUCK YOU JIM!" he screamed, falling to his knees finally, grabbing his head and rocking on the ground, sobbing. "You fucking bastard...you said you'd never leave me...But where are you now, huh? Where the FUCK are you NOW!?" he cried out between the heavy sobs. He curled up on the floor, crying himself into a sleep.

 

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A year had passed since the end of the stupid game between Sherlock and—

god he couldn't even think the name without choking up. Even after a year it was so hard. Everything was different, now, without him. Sebastian had a price out on his head, now without the protection of Jim's influences. He was nothing without that man. Nothing but a depression ridden drunk. He hadn't picked up a gun, let alone touch a gun, since that day...And the police had found the gun he had abandoned before he could retrieve it. Old clients and the police were out for him and he had no one to protect him anymore. He sat, slumped on the sofa in the old flat, empty vodka and scotch bottle lying strewn across the floor, the ash tray beyond overflowing with cigarette butts and ashes. His eyes were dead, and seeing, but not registering. He'd drunken himself into a stupor again. He was just finished. There was nothing left in this world for him. All he'd worked for had gone and shot itself, and that might have been part of the reason he hadn't touched a gun since then. He'd taught Jim everything the man knew about guns...This was his fault. Jim wouldn't be dead if it weren't for him. Or maybe if he'd taken Sherlock out himself... All these 'if's werea constant thing floating about his head since then. Blame being pointed most always to himself or to Sherlock Holmes. If Jim hadn't become so...obsessed with the detective...Then things would be as they were. But they weren't, and there was nothing he could do about it now...

 

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Sebastian sighed out a cloud of smoke, the cloud floating lazily from his lips. He set his cigarette down and looked through his scope, trying to find a good target. He'd finally stopped moping about the flat and was getting out and about a bit more, but never going near St. Bart's for fear of relapsing from this leap forward. He still thought of Jim, fondly, but he was done feeling sorry for himself. Moping wasn't getting him anywhere with his life, so it was high time he put his big boy trousers on and got over it. Besides, if Jim could see him the way he had been the past few months... Sebastian shuddered to think what the man would have done. He found a target and took a deep, calming breath, the frigid morning air waking him up and keeping him alert. He gently squeezed the trigger, hitting his target dead-on, and the can nearly 100 meters away practically exploded on impact. He chuckled and sat back as chaos began on the streets below. His work was done.

 

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The streets were quickly emptying, everyone heading home to their loved ones or at least something that they loved. The dark clouds were quickly closing in and he could hear thunder off in the distance, rolling in with the clouds. A storm was heading his way, but he was far too in his own world to pay the ordinary world any mind. It wasn't his top concern right now. Not really. Memories had been attacking him constantly in recent days, the stress of solitude eating him up and spitting him out. He was clearly losing himself along with everything he once had.

/flashback/ Lightning clapped outside the small fragile building and Cyrus was curled up in his lap, shivering and whimpering, tears streaming down the small boys cheeks as Seb gently carded his fingers through the light hair, humming a gentle lullaby. "Cy, what do you say we go curl up in bed, huh?" he asked the smaller boy, kissing his hair carefully. "Come on. I'll keep you safe, I swear it. The mean ol' storm will never get you with me on the job." he said and grinned, ruffling the boy's hair. /end flashback/

He held his head, slipping to the ground, shaking and squeezing his eyes shut, just as the rain started to come down on him.

/flashback/ "Well, are you going to really do it, or can I trouble you to work for me?" the genius man said, an adder grin on his thin lips. He offered the sopping wet sniper a dry umbrella and a kinder smile. "You're wasted on that pavement Tiger, come home with me." he added. /end flashback/

The tears were mixing in with the rain and he was shaking uncontrollably now with the sobs and the cold. He just wanted it all to stop. He wanted to be okay again.

 

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Sebastian sat up on the rooftop where he had first met the Napoleon of Crime. He smiled slightly at the outlandish nickname. The last time that he had been here, he had been planning to off himself. He closed his eyes as the sky drizzled tears down on his cheeks.

The man had saved his life, as others had tried, but he was the one to succeed. Not only had he gotten him away from the roof, but he kept him busy enough that he never even thought to try again. And he taught Sebastian how to fall in love and be in love. Even if it was by accident, it happened all the same. He had fallen in love with the genius man. The small terror of a man. The spitfire. And never again would he find a love like they had. Jim was the only friend that he had ever known...

The tiger sniper sighed, staring up into the sky, water falling into his eyes. "I love you Jim...and I always will." he whispered, pulling a little black velvet box from his pocket and setting it on the ledge beside himself. "And...I wish I knew how you felt in return..." he sighed, getting up carefully and leaving the rooftop--and the box, along with the painful memories--behind. And hopefully this would be the last time...But he knew that hope was misplaced. One didn't get OVER Jim Moriarty.

 

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Sebastian watched the clouds overhead, arms behind his head, rifle at home. His only form of protection today was his handgun. Not that he wasn't good with a handgun. In fact, he was just as deadly with a handgun as his rifle. But today was a relaxing day. Another anniversary of Jim's death. He sighed, wishing for some action. He missed the danger.

"Happy Anniversary, boss." the sniper whispered before closing his eyes and letting the breeze blow through his hair.

 

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Sebastian hated the nights when he just couldn't get to sleep; he would just stare at the ceiling or drink. He had given up smoking a few years back, but every year since, he contemplated taking it back up, just to spite the man he had quit for.

"Damn idiot..." he murmured, rolling onto his side on the couch. He couldn't sleep in that bedroom anymore. Hadn't even opened the door since... He grumbled to himself continuing to stare at the dull ceiling. "I'd rather be anywhere right now...anywhere but here without you..."


End file.
